Having grown frustrated at my recent futile attempts to gather information regarding my family's whereabouts within my former corporation's databanks (I suspect that they may have, at the corporation's behest, relocated to another city and changed their names), the need to find solace in a cup of soycaf and a danish urged me back out into the sprawl and surround myself with its now-familiar hustle and bustle. (I've recently noticed a growing number of promo-skimmers and adverts around the sprawl, their pluggers oozing with charm as they try to sell the latest line in elven fashions or Aztechnology wares. Given the preponderant habit of these sellers to imbed their audio channels with supersonics that makes it harder for audiences to switch channels or turn away, I've found it convenient to invest in a pair of sound-suppressing earmuffs when I'm out and about in the city.)

Now relatively familiar with its layout, I kept to the plex's safer zones where I picked up a pack of soyamenu from a Bee Burger, washing it down (reluctantly!) with some tri-recycled water from a Stuffershack. My sour mood abated somewhat, I opted to make a detour by some old haunts - Dantes, Seattle Center - where I'd first started this project, though at the time under entirely different circumstances.

Had it been so long since Professor Moore, back at the corporate university, initiated this research project as part of my ParaPsychology thesis? I stood there, at the base of the Space Needle, looking up the famous landmark and asking myself why, after having fled from the university campus and its parent corporation, I was still continuing with the research. Did a sense of attachment to my previous life as an innocent and all-too trusting cog in the corporate wheel remain? Did hope linger that I would one day return within the fold among my fellow students? Or perhaps I felt the need to vindicate my decision; to assure myself that I still had some purpose away from my multinat corporation. Surely the information and evaluative files I log here will one day serve some purpose, whether they be practical or malignant, to somebody. Maybe I was merely being stubborn and unwilling to abandon this project that had become, to me, a way of establishing and maintaining ties with Seattle's seedier side, on whom I have come to depend greatly. (I assure my trusted readers at this point that core access to the more secretive of these files has been encoded by the best deckers nuyen can buy.)

All these questions lingered in my mind as I suddenly realized that I'd continued on my walk and found myself on the doorsteps of a more familiar location: Hooligans Pub. Being thankful that I'd remembered to bring my interview material with me, I entered the pub and was met with a handful of faces as yet unfamiliar to me. One of them, a female elf (though showing very weak traits familiar to homo sapiens nobilis) openly identified herself as being a shaman. My curiosity piqued, I inquired further and was surprised to discover that her totem (its identity withheld at the subject's request) was based on Amerind legends of Mother Earth and love (later studies of some mythological datachips pointed to Persian's Ishtar, Rome's Venus, Isis from Ancient Egypt, and the Christians until mid 21st Century.)

Wanted to learn how such a symbol of peace could hope to thrive, let alone survive within Seattle's strife-ridden streets, I asked the candidate to discuss the subject further. She agreed, opting to retire in one of the establishment's private booths, and I conducted my interview of Subject Thirty-Five:

Q: Who is your favorite musician or band?
A:I like all sorts of music. Let me think: I like Voivod, and I think Maria Mercurial is pretty wiz.

Q: Where do you sleep at night?
A: I sleep in a queen sized bed.
Q: Which is located...
A: In Auburn.
Q: You own your own house or just some corporate conapt?
A: I live in an apartment.

Q: What do you drive?
A: A white Land Rover with white moon rims.
Q: How did you acquire it?
A: I bought it outright from Harbor Trucks and Vans.
Q: With nuyen earned by doing...
A: Doing courier work.

Q: What really slots you off?
A: I really detest hate and violence. It's a pointless use of our energy as beings on this planet. We're capable of such beauty, and it takes so much less effort to create beauty than disaster.
Q: Isn't that rather too altruistic for today? How do you cope if you see death everywhere; the streets, the trids?
A: It may be, but I'm an optimist. I believe in the good in people. When I see everything going on around me, I just have to tell myself that these people are a product of the world those before us created. We can make it better by doing the small good things for each other. I have to stay hopeful.

Q: Have you ever killed anyone, and if so, how many?
A: Not intentionally.
Q: Ah, so you have. Even in self-defense, how many times?
A: Not in self-defense. His death was a result of defending me. I did not commit the murder but my presence was a direct cause of his death.

Q: Do you run the Matrix regularly?
A: [shakes her head 'No']
Q: Not interested? At all?
A: I think it would be interesting to see what it looks like, but I haven't the capability.
Q: You can wear a visor and experience the Matrix without any risky surgery.
A: I wasn't aware.

Q: Do you own a firearm?
A: [nods] A Barett pistol. I only use it for shooting down doors that I cannot open with an electronics kit.
Q: Any other firearms you like to use? For shooting down doors, of course.
A: [smirks] Keep in mind my totem makes it impossible for me to harm people. I only have the one small pistol.
Q: Right, your totem. Let's talk about that. How exactly does it control the aspects of your life?
A: Control. Interesting word. I consider it more of a guide. The [totem] guides me toward good, I suppose.
Q: 'Good' is rather ellusive as a behaviour, isn't it? What actions in particular can or can't you do?
A: I don't know how to cast combat spells. Or any other spell that would inflict bodily harm upon a person.
Q: Is it hard following your totem? Especially in today's Awakened age?
A: The totem chooses a person. I don't follow so much as it leads me.

Q: Who do you prefer working for?
A: I'd prefer not to work at all.
Q: What is your preferred method, then, of making nuyen?
A: I prefer to just deliver messages and courier type stuff.
Q: No preferred corporation or businesses you take your biz to?
A: Not really. I try to stay out of the corp world.

Q: Where were you on the day Dunkelzhan was assassinated?
A: I was in boarding school in France.
Q: Do you recall your reaction, if any?
A: I didn't really register what it meant.

Q: How old are you?
A: I'm nineteen.

Q: Have you ever used BTLs?
A: [shakes her head 'No']
Q: Again, not interested or slightly curious? Even the simsense scene?
A: Not really.

Q: What other places in this world have you been to?
A: Just France, Pennsylvania, and here.
Q: Pennsylvania? Is that where you're from?
A: [nods]
Q: So how did you end up in Seattle?
A: My parents were killed. My brother and I couldn't stay in boarding school. I couldn't go back to Pennsylvania so I came here to keep on the downlow...which is why it is incredibly important that my name is not published.

Q: When the drek hits the turbo, where’s the first place you run to?
A: Home.
Q: To your rentdoss in Auburn?
A: [nods]
Q: Isn't that rather dangerous? It's probably the first place that someone who's hunting for you will look, isn't it?
A: My complex is safe. And I've never had someone hunting me.
Q: ...So far?
A: I try not to do anything to anyone that would make them want to hunt me. Golden rule.

Q: Where’s the best place to link-up with other runners?
A: Here! I love Hoolie's.
Q: Any reason in particular?
A: The folks are mostly nice. The bar is wellstocked. And the food is primo.

Q: Hypothetic scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their heads and they were on the run from a megacorp, was to come asking you for help. What would you do?
A: I would give them shelter and food and try to find out what the situation was and what I could do to help otherwise. If the person were a friend, that is.
Q: And if the reward for the bounty was excessive? More than you needed to, say, help many others? Wouldn't you be tempted to sacrifice that one person for the salvation of many others?
A: Life on earth is not there to be sacrificed. No amount of money is worth that.
Q: I don't mean nuyen, but balancing one life against hundreds of others.
A: I understand the question. I would not sacrifice one person for the well-being of all other life on earth unless it was mine.

I thanked Subject Thirty-five and she returned to join the other patrons in the bar (where I swore I could hear a saxophone being played) and I left the pub with the intention of returning home. The streets were already alive with night-prowlers mingling with chillfolk, murder machines with dreamchippers, all under the watchful gaze of LoneStar patrols who'd retreated within the protective hulls of their armed patrol cars and bulletproof synthplas windows.

Opting not to become another faceless statistic, I switched my holster's position to make it openly visible (the habit of carrying my Colt Manhunter has become second nature to me, now) and thus (hopefully) convince the gangers to seek prey elsewhere. My soycaf could wait, I decided, and padded my way back home quickly before the real predators came out.

An associate of mine recently returned from the Psycholone Club has relayed interesting bites of information pertaining to this latest trend catering to the Awakened. At first glance, the place supposedly is rather dismal in appearance, its decor spartan save for a few tables and several coffins. It has been relayed to me that, upon paying the entrance fee, patrons are given a coffin in which their bodies are protectively secured whilst their astral forms leave to join the astral crowd on and about the dance floor. Given the Psycholone owner's bent to hire acts based on sheer emotion rather than talent, the resulting astral energy is purported to be incredible, giving Awakened patrons an experience that no mundane club can hope to rival.

Opting to give my friend time to rest and recuperate, I quietly left the doss with my interview kit in hand with the intention of gathering more research data. My usual haunts were devoid of any really interesting characters (no surprise at 08H00 in the morning) but on this day I'd brought my radio with me and happened upon a woman's voice asking for a guide through Seattle's downtown sector. Now this was something I could do, and perhaps land some monetary reward in the process without any major risk to my life. So I centered my scanner to the convo and, upon determining her location, raced to meet up with her.

At first glance, she was exactly what I'd expected to find: a newcomer to the sprawl, wide-eyed with wonder and with just the right amount of healthy paranoia to assure her survival for at least a few more days. After introductions were quickly made (I wanted to leave the area quickly in case the candidate's radio calls for assistance had also attracted predators with very unSamaritan-like tendencies) I led her to the sparkling new Mammon Tower mall. Once inside its protective black-glassed walls, I was able to help her locate a few items she wanted to buy. We paused at the Ca-Fiend cafe on the 2nd floor long enough for me to interview Subject Thirty-six:

Q: Who is your favorite musician or band?
A: I do not listen to music. Not intentionally, that is.I presume you find it abnormal?
Q: Honestly? You don't listen to it because you don't have the time or just don't like it?
A: Partially the former, though I do not have enough experience with it to determine whether I should like it or not. I prefer to spend my credits on other items.

Q: Where do you sleep at night?
A: At this point of time, whatever place I might locate when night comes and I feel the need to sleep. I do not have enough to rent an apartment yet.
Q: Is there a style that you lean towards, then? I'm thinking that low-grade coffin hotels aren't your style, correct?
A: The coffin hotels are suitably comfortable, though the lack of storage space means it will not be a place I would visit often.

Q: What do you drive?
A: Before I wrecked it, a Rapier.
Q: What happened?
A: [clears her throat] I was unaware of how violent the Lone Star officers would react to having a motorbike parked in their lobby.

Q: What really slots you off?
A: 'Slot' me off? What do you mean? Pardon me, I am not familiar with these American slangs.
Q: [ellucidates on the expresssion]
A: Stingy employers. The cost of local cab fare. Perverts.

Q: Have you ever killed anyone?
A: What do you think?
Q: If that's a 'yes', then how many?
A: I do not count the number of kills I have obtained.
Q: Ballpark figure, then? Ten? Fifty? A hundred?
A: [generalises with a wave of her hand] More than ten, most likely less than fifty.

Q: Do you run the Matrix regularly?
A: I do not run it at all.
Q: Not interested?
A: I do not see the need to, so yes, you could say I am not interested.

Q: Do you own a firearm?
A: I wish to locate a place to buy assault rifle clips, what do you think?
Q: You could be merely attempting to pull down wares for a friend. It's not uncommon. What kind of firearm do you use, then?
A: I am proficient with pistols and rifles, in general.
Q: But if you were trying to, as you say, land some rifle rounds, is it safe to assume that you prefer a long-gun?
A: I am equally proficient with a pistol, a sniper rifle and an assault rifle. As such, I do not have a specifc preference other than using these three types.
Q: [notices the Ares III pistol tucked in subject's holster]

Q: Who do you prefer working for?
A: I do not have a permanent employer yet, so I will not know.
Q: So you're in the market? Any preference on who you'd like to be working for? Perhaps maybe a multinat or some other biz?
A: I presume multinat to mean Multination Company or Corporation?
Q: Yes, a multinat corporation such as Aztechnology or Saeder-Krupp.
A: Biz refers to...?
Q: There are many other places to do biz. Legitimate and not-so-legitimate.
A: [pauses for a while] I have not thought much on it, and thus I do not have a preference as of yet. Though, hopefully I would be able to obtain better equipment from my future employer.

Q: Where were you on the day Dunkelzhan was assassinated?
A: Who was assassinated?
Q: President Dunkelzhan the dragon. He was elected back in 2057 but killed in a car bomb on the night of his inauguration. It was a great tragedy! Riots all over the UCAS. I simply was curious to see if you remember where you were and what your reaction was.
A: 2057, that was seven years back. I was not in North America yet. Is it significant for you to know where I was then?
Q: No. So you're not originally from the UCAS?
A: Affirmative.
Q: Where are you from?
A: You might know it as Russia.

Q: How old are you?
A: [smirks faintly] I will tell you if you tell me.
Q: I have no clue as to how old you are.
A: Your age, miss. [laughs softly] It seems you value the secrecy that is your age highly. Very well. I do not.

Q: Have you ever used BTLs?
A:I do not.
Q: Again, not interested? I hear the Calfree chips are supposed to be novahot.
A: Definition required, please.
Q: The Calfree nation that used to be California.
A: And what would these Calfree chips be about to make them supposedly 'novahot'?

At this point, Subject Thirty-six procurred what looked like a simsense chip from one of her packs and slid it across the tabletop, with the declaration: “Take it. I have no use for it, and consider it a gift of appreciation for bringing me here.” Examination of the chip revealed it to be a personafix BTL chip labelled 'Carrot Top'.

I held my breath, realizing that I held a veritable world of addiction in my hand. The Cal-free chips I'd mentioned earlier were indeed superior: a single hit of these chips and its users were immediately hooked! Given the highly illegal nature of such a chip (Class B restricted, with mere possession carrying a fine of 2,000 nuyen and/or a month's incarceration) I was quick to hide it away amidst my belongings before continuing the interview:

Q: You said you came from Russian, right? So what other places in this world have you been to?
A: [nodding] Japan, Phillipines.
Q: The Japanese Empire? Really?
A: Affirmative. I was there for a short period of time.
Q: And what was your take on the fact that the Japanese Empire was extraditing all it's ork and troll citizens to the Island of Yomi for 'racial purification' purposes?
A: [shrugs] If the Empire had thought it necessary, there was likely nothing others could have done to alter it.

Q: When the drek hits the turbo, where’s the first place you run to?
A: What did you say?
Q: I'll re-iterate: when big trouble comes to find you, where's the fist place you go to re-group? Do you have a bolthole or other place to hide at?
A: [shaking her head] You Americans have perculiar slang. I do not have any location to go to in particular. I just attempt to move out of sight.

Q: Where’s the best place to link-up with other runners?
A: I have not linked up with other runners before, so I do not know. I have worked alone thus far.
Q: You're that new to the sprawl?
A: Indeed.
Q: So why did you leave Russia to come here?
A: Family issues.

Q: Hypothetic scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their heads and they were on the run from a megacorp, was to come asking you for help. What would you do?
A: It depends on who that somebody is.
Q: Somebody who used to work for a corp but then wanted out.
A: I will either help or ask them to go away.
Q: You wouldn't be tempted to turn them in for the bounty? Even if it was substantial?
A: Unless they are wanted for some terrible crimes that they have committed, then it would be an affirmative. It is not honorable to do so, especially when that somebody requested aid from you.

The interview concluded, Subject Thirty-six voiced her wish to remain and continue her shopping spree. The BTL in my pocket, however, seemed to be burning through my layers of clothing so I took my leave and exited the Mammon mall, certain that its security sytem was following my every inch as I exited the tower. I confess that I was starving at the point, but first needed to rid myself of the illegal chip in my pocket. Should I simply throw it away? Dump it in the sewers? And risk some errant streetmonger stumbling upon it, perhaps try to use it and become instantly addicted? Could I live with this responsibility, even if it was some unnamed homeless street dreg?

What I needed was information, and for that I decided to conduct some research regarding BTLs (dreamchips or beetles being some of the many terms used to describe them out on the streets) at a streetside dataterm. BTL chips are based on common simsense technology in that any user with an ASIST interface can re-live experiences recorded by simsense stars and starlets (called a wet recording) that involves all the five senses. A progressive step beyond this technology are Dir-X chips which include enhanced emotive recordings, so that the user also emotionally re-lives the recorded event. Still, every simsense or Dir-X chip has built-in peak controllers to protect the users.

Enter Better-Than-Life chips that have had all peak control limits removed. These chips leave users exposed to overly raw emotions that surpass his or her emotive baseline, allowing kickback from parasympathetic, adrenal, thalamic and hypothalamic, limbic, and other biological systems that cannot be found in real life. As a result, addiction to BTL is almost always instantaneous, and the result of prolonged addiction more often than not is fatal unless major intervention occurs. The danger in BTLs, however, not only lies in the need for addicts to obtain nuyen at any cost for their next “hit” (street-side BTLs are almost always coded for limited-use only, burning out after the first couple of playbacks) but rather in the tendency for users to actually live out the recordings. Newstrids are awash of stories involving addicts chipped-out on beetles such as “Red Meanie”, “Fairy Tale”, or “P-fix” that commit horrendeous acts of violence. Add to the madness a user wielding SOTA cyberware and the results are tragic enough to warrant the needs for corporate cyberpsycho squads.

A LoneStar cruiser passed by my location at that time, and I was nervous enough at this point to rapidly find shelter within an elven bar down the street. There I ran into an acquaintance who agreed to properly dispose of the BTL chip for me, perhaps analyze it. Though reluctant to risk exposing such a dangerous chip to someone I knew, I was reassured that no harm would come out of it. I left the bar with no small amount of trepidation, so I returned to enter my data with the intention of checking up on the BTL chip's new owner soon...just to be sure.

A quick journal entry, as I have pressing matters to attend to down by the docks. I was breezing by Hooligans' a few weeks ago when I met a new face: a tattooed man who, oddly enough, shared my passion for sweets (not so much my love for soycaf, but beggers can't be choosers!) I voiced my desire to ask him some questions and he agreed, leading me to one of the secluded booths in the tavern. Over a healthy serving of 'Death by Chocolate' I then proceeded to interview Subject thirty-seven:

Q: Who is your favorite musician/band?
A: Blind Lemon Jefferson or Elton John.
Q: And these bands are from where?
A: Well, Blind Lemon Jefferson pretty much invented the Delta Blues back in the 1930's or something. Elton John was about fourty years later.
Q: So, music that is over a hundred years old?
A: More or less, not to say I don't like modern music. Most of the stuff they play at Syberspace is pretty shiny.
A: So what type of music - the recent kind, I mean - do you like? Ork grunge? Elven emo? Shag rock or trog metal?
Q: I'm sorry, popular culture is a little lost on me. Genres don't make much sense. Electronic music is preferred. All I can tell ya'. [thinks for a moment] Rhythimpulse, then.

Q: Where do you sleep at night?
A: Coffin Motels and couches.

Q: What do you drive?
A: Honda Viking.
Q: Viking? Is that a boat or something?
A: It's a motorcycle. I got it cheap. I actually hate the thing, I wish I had my Eurocar.
Q: Why?
A: I felt more secure in it; less likely to fly off it and bounce my head off the pavement.

Q: What really slots you off?
A: Idiots, people that wear bowler derbys, ham.
Q: Well, yes, idiots for sure. But is there a specific action that they do which you find very annoying?
A: Poor execution. You go to do a job, maybe a big job, ringleader doesn't do his fraggin' job. No pre-game, no huddle formation, just a fragged-up sandtrap.
Q: Logistic problems?
A: [nods]

Q: Have you ever killed anyone?
A: A few.
Q: How many?
A: More than two, less than twenty-five.
Q: And these were all part of doing your job? Or maybe in self-defense?
A: Mostly self-defense in the name of the job. I'm no hitman.
Q: Well then what do you do?
A: Mostly courier gigs. Some light security on occasion.

Q: Do you run the Matrix?
A: Nope.
Q: Why not?
A: Seen a lot of people strung out because of it, lost their damn minds.
Q: Yes, it's risky. But isn't it worth it? I mean, the things an icecutter can do and the nuyen they can pull down is huge!
A: Not worth my mind.

Q: Do you own a firearm?
A: [draws a pistol from his shoulder holster, twirls it around a moment on his finger before slipping it back into it's holster] That's the only one.
Q: And where did you get it? It looks like a custom job to me.
A: [shrugs]

Q: Who do you prefer working for?
A: Corps.
Q: Any one in particular?
A: No, that's how you get into trouble.
Q: Oh? How do you figure?
A: Corps are fighting each other constantly. You show more loyalty to one than the others and the next thing you know, you're a target.
Q: But don't you conversely get more preferential treatment from the multinats that you show loyalty to?
A: Sure do. I guess it's good I don't care much about climbing the ranks. I'm fine being a bouncer at a meeting...er, meeting slash fancy party.
Q: So you prefer to be treated equally by all megacorps rather than be sheltered by some and hunted by others?
A: Exactly. Neutrality is an amazing survival tool.
Q: Is there a corp that you would really *not* want to have hunting you?
A: Aztech.
Q: Why?
A: [suddenly taps the side of his head] There's someone else in this room right now, or close. I've been mindlinked. [shakes his head furiously for a moment.]
Q: I can just skip that question if you want.
A: Sorry, I get a little paranoid sometimes. Those Aztech guys are creepy, first off. Second, I just get a bad feeling. All those mages.

Q: Where were you on the day Dunkelzhan was assassinated?
A: A library. A clerk started crying.
Q: At a library?
A: [I was] studying.Uh, for a history class. Ancient Rome.
Q: Class? So you're a student?
A: I was.
Q: But no anymore?
A: I graduated.
Q: And your school was just a public school or something privately owned?
A: It was a college. I guess it was public. Anybody could go.

Q: How old are you?
A: Twenty-four.

Q: Have you ever used BTLs?
A: Oh dear, not at all.
Q: What about simsense?
A: More than likely, I don't remember for sure. I spent two years in a total haze.
Q: Oh? How did that happen?
A: A lot of weed and a lot of novacoke.

Q: What other places in this world have you been to?
A: Um, spent some time in London. One or two days over in the Empire.
Q: London? Did they ever fix those domes?
A: Not sure. I was, like, six.

Q: When the drek hits the turbo, where’s the first place you run to?
A: Somewhere without any people.
Q: And here in Seattle that means where?
A: It varies. Sometimes it's an old warehouse, sometimes it's in the middle of a park or that playground in Auburn.

Q: Where’s the best place to link-up with other runners?
A: Hooligan's from what I've experienced. I meet some decent chummers at Dante's, too.
Q: And what type of runners do you tend to run into? I mean, high-level novahot pros or just sissy wannabes and shadowfluffers?
A: I don't have much time for people that aren't serious. There's the rare cakewalk or gopher run where I can get by with low-rent slitches.
Q: So most of the time you ride in circles with the pros?
A: As often as possible. I guess somewhere in the middle of professional and assclown.

Q: Hypothetic scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their head were on the run from a megacorp and was to come asking you for help. What would you do?
A: Depends on how much they're paying.
Q: You'd only help them if they paid you?
A: Sure. Corp matters as well, that determines price. There's maybe, uh, three people I wouldn't charge and would help without question.
Q: Okay, let's go with that and say that the runaway pays you but later the corporation offers to pay you even more to turn them in: do you?
A: Word is bond: when you start a job there's an obligation to finish it. Selling out your client might pay more but it makes you look damn stupid.
Q: And what about your 'neutrality' from before? Aren't you in fact showing some of that favoritism if you start snuffing corporations over the needs of one or two people?
A: The whole point is not to be found out at all. If everything goes the way it should, I'd be a ghost. Said person asking for help would get out, I'd get paid and that would be the end of it.
Q: So it's merely the appearance of neutrality that you strive for? Regardless if that's the truth or not?
A: Exactly.

Upon leaving, the bar's trideo was awash with newsflashes regarding a violent scuffle between warring yakuza and mafia gansters down in Tacoma. I quickly thanked subject thirty-seven and took a cab to downtown's south side in hopes of catching the tail-end of the confrontation (an interview with a bonafide yak or maf would be *so* jewel!) Unfortunately, by the time my orc driver meandered his taxi down to Tacoma, all suspects in the purported battle had vanished, leaving only a pair of bodies being hauled away by the coroner, a cordoned police area, and a throng of news-hounds sniffing at the gutters.

Another opportunity to further my ongoing studies on Seattle's nightwise, I gathered my research material before heading out into the sprawl. Despite my (limited) experience away from the corporate zone since my forced departure, I felt confidant enough to dare a few darker alleys without fear of running afoul of the nightside's street monsters (and be reduced to goo and washed down the drain.) I hit a few clubs popular with the runner community, but apart from a few rumors about Lonestar operatives locked on and seeking one or two specific members, my efforts to find a suitable candidate were in vain. I then retraced my steps a few times - again with rumors of several prominent shadow agents lying low and zeroing out - when, upon visiting the kitchen of a very popular bar, I happened upon a young elven girl in line for some food. Despite her apparent young age and casual style, the fact that this little one was casually roaming the plex's sidewalks at night piqued my interest. After a few questions I knew that I'd found a potential candidate! She agreed to an interview and later led me to the Deep Seafood restaurant (as we'd just had our fill of Hooligans' grub, we opted to forego perusing the menus) where, in a private booth, I conducted my interview of subject Thirty-Eight:

Q: Who is your favorite musician/band?
A: [shrugs] I don't really have one.
Q: Is there a type of music you prefer? Classical? Trog metal? Shag rock?
A: Not trog metal. I guess classical is okay. Just stuff that sounds nice, and not really loud and nasty sounding.

Q: Where do you sleep at night?
A: I got an apartment in Auburn.'S where I live.

Q: What do you drive?
A: I got two things. A Scorpion and a Bulldog.
Q: I didn't mean pets. I meant vehicles.
A: [giggles] They are vehicles. Harley Scorpion an' a GMC Bulldog.

Q: What really slots you off?
A: [frowns suddenly, looking down at her hands, staring at them for a few long moments] People who...[angrily] Who...simply...people who do this! [holds up her hands which have large, roughly circular scars that can be seen on both the palms and backs]
Q: So not an accident, then?
A: [falls silent, saying nothing more on the subject]

Q: Have you ever killed anyone?
A: Yeah.
Q: How many?
A: More than one.

Q: Do you run the Matrix?
A: [shakes her head "no"]
Q: Not at all interested? Comp jockeys can pull down major nuyen.
A: I ain't stickin' no jack in my head. [shudders]

Q: Do you own a firearm?
A: [nods solemnly]
Q: Any preferences as to type? I mean, long gun? Pistol? Smudge?
A: Handgun. Pistol.

Q: Who do you prefer working for?
A: Anybody with honest work.
Q: That pretty much rules out any work involving corporations, then.
A: Yeah. You asked preference. I said my preference.
Q: Okay, let's go with that, then. What do you consider 'honest work'. I mean, what do people pay you to accomplish?
A: I guess it's perception. I don't like bein' paid to kill somebody, s'all.
Q: And by perception, you mean investigative work?
A: No, I mean what people think honest work is. It means different stuff to different people. I don't like killin' people. But I will if I have to.

Q: Where were you on the day Dunkelzhan was assassinated?
A: I don't know.

Q: How old are you?
A: Twenty-three.

Q: Have you ever used BTLs?
A: [shakes her head]
Q: Ever? What about simsense?
A: [continues to move her head 'No']

Q: What other places in this world have you been to?
A: Just places around here. And Portland.
Q: Not interested in seeing the world? London? The Japanese Empire or Aztlan? You could catch a sub-orbital flight to Aztlan and be there by lunchtime!
A: I don't know nothin' about other places like that. I wouldn't wanna go where I don't know if I'd be comfortable goin'.

Q: When the drek hits the turbo, where’s the first place you run to?
A:Well, I'd go to my apartment, I guess. If I couldn't go there, I guess I'd go back to Portland.

Q: Where’s the best place to link-up with other runners?
A: I don't really 'link-up' with people. I go to Hooligan's to sit around. But that's all.

Q: Hypothetic scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their heads and they were on the run from a megacorp, was to come asking you for help. What would you do?
A: I guess it depends if I was close to 'em. If not, I'd probably tell 'em to get lost. If I cared about 'em, I guess I'd try to help without gettin' myself into the same trouble.
Q: Okay, and if after you pledge your help the same corporation shows up and offers you substantial monetary compensation to turn them in. Do you?
A: [frowns]
Q: Again anonymity is guaranteed. I am looking for honesty.
A: [bites her lip apprehensively] No. But if I had to do it to save my life? I dunno. Maybe.

Upon completion subject Thirty-Eight and I returned to Hooligans, she to resume her perch atop a barstool and I to return to my doss and enter my data. One aspect of the interview stayed with me, however, and that was the mention of subject Thirty-Eight's apprehensive approach to travel. How, indeed, can we expect people to broaden their horizons and learn from other nations if they have no clue as to what is out there, waiting for them?

As I'd made mention of the nation of Aztlan during my interview, I set my telecom's Sort n' Save program to key in on anything to do with the meso-American nation. Most of the news bites mentioned the CAS-Aztlan stalemate or the guerilla rebels in the Yucatan. There was even an ollamaliztli, or court ball match that dated a few days back: null data.

I then hit the library for further info regarding the central American nation and shuffled though the datafiles. It seems that, in order to lay a basic groundwork on Aztlan, one must consider the Aztechnololgy corporation (formerly the Oro Corporation) for neither would have been possible without the other. In its infancy, Oro Corp managed to buy control of several small Central and South American nations, including VITAS-plagued Mexico in 2015. The new government in what was renamed Aztlan by 2022 was - and still is today - tightly controlled by the corporate body with a strong influence in its state religion: the Path of the Sun, which is loosely based on the Aztec and Inca religions of centuries ago (all other religions in Aztlan were banned in 2051, though Catholicism is rumored to still have a strong underground following). Aztechnology's undermining of foreign businesses and its attempt to nationalize all other megacorp holdings in 2044 has been the root of the sordid relationships, tenuous at best, between the Azzies and all the other megacorps.

Today, Aztechnology can be ranked second in the top ten global multinats in terms of power and sheer size. It is the biggest producer of consumer goods. You probably used, ate, or bought something produced by the Big A in the last hour, but didn't realize it. From food to military tech & service, chemicals, software, and groundbreaking magical security. Add to that increased biotechnology and cybernetics research, and you've got a multinat to be reckoned with!

Despite its success, the Big A has continuously been reluctant to pass over its wealth to Aztlan's citizenry. The capital city of Tenochtitlan and its 18 million inhabitants (22 million if you factor in the SINless) is also known as "El Humo Grande": the Big Smoke, since the smog is thick enough to necessitate breather masks for any outdoor travel. Similarly, the massacre of civilians by Aztech troops in 2050 in the Yucatan peninsula prompted the ongoing guerilla war, with rumors of the insurgents being armed and trained by Aztlan's southern neighbour and rival, Amazonia. Another rumor points at the leadership of a feathered dragon named Sonador, eager to uphold Dunkelzahn's legacy and secure his own presidency of an independent Yucatan nation. Again, these are just rumors.

With increased pressure on both the corporate and national fronts, Aztechnology as become one of the most paranoid and suspicious of any megacorp, its elite security and adept magical forces unforgiving of any slight, whether real or imagined. I cannot emphasize enough Aztechnology's magical power, for what the corporation lacks in its Matrix and physical security structures (albeit both considerable in their own right) Azzie mages are the stuff of nightmares.

Continuning my fact-finding run into LoneStar's datastores, I stumbled upon an MTF unsolved case file regarding a body that had been found in a rental car down by Charles Royer Station. The case file, marked as having strong probabilities of Aztechnology involvment by LoneStar's Magical Task Force, included infocrawls and trid files. Curious, I gave the vidfiles a once-over: a woman's corpse slumped in a heap behind the driving wheel of the Runabout, down low where one couldn't see it from afar. I mention here that I assumed the body to be female as the only way I could guess at her gender was by the flower pattern on the scrap of blouse that still clung to her wrist. Otherwise, the body was naked. Her face and scalp were gone, and the rest of her wasn't any prettier. The skin had been entirely stripped from her body, except for her feet and hands, exposing raw, red muscle underneath. The infocrawl on the case file, and later the autopsy report, indicated that her body, and that of the male seated in the passenger seat next to her (also sans skin) had no signs of fatal wounds. No bullet holes, broken bones or deep cuts, nor any internal damage wrought by poisons or drowning, and no signs of major physical trauma caused by a magical spell. In effect, the pair had been flayed alive.

The image still haunted me as I left the library, standing in the rain and hailing a cab. Upon returning to my doss, I noticed that my trideo had picked up one more Aztlan/Aztech newsbit regarding a missing corporate mover and shaker named Manny Friedsomething who'd been the victim of a corporate extradition! The bottle-blonde behind the newsdesk added that the Azzies' North American division is scrambling, testament that the missing Aztech leader is no small-time corporate asset!

With the Azzies' penchant for overkill, the Aztechnology corporation appears to have the means, the motive and now plenty of opportunity to retrieve their corporate member (as well as the diplomatic immunity cards to walk away free afterwards!) Maybe it comes as no surprise that former UCAS President Dunkelzahn, in his will, allotted 1 Million dollars for every Aztech blood mage captured alive. To my knowledge, however, no one has yet to cash in on this bounty: testament to the lethality and resiliency of the Aztechnology mages, I suppose.

Given the above information, perhaps subject Thirty-Eight is right to remain in Seattle. I myself will be passing a few days watching the trid and avoiding the streets.

A recent push by new corporate high-echelon types has necessitated more research for viable contacts in the sprawl. I dusted off my Andrea McBain leather jacket, dug my holovid recorder out from the drek amassing in my rentdoss, grabbed my clipboard and set out to conduct more interviews. Leaving my bolthole, holstering my Colt Manhunter, a realization dawned upon me: I had returned to Seattle for quite some time, but had yet to zone out what really had changed. I'd limited my forays to ghosting the few usual haunts I knew, each time having to look harder for a familiar face. This time I bounced into a club fairly early in the evening, knowing that the street gillettes were going to be out early that night. The bar looked like a throwback to those hazy jazzy atmospheres so prevalent in old pre-Awakened flatvids from over 150 years ago. Despite the clientele's penchant for seeking anonymity within the smoky penumbra and many private booths skirting the walls my patience paid off for I soon came upon a trio of promising test subjects: a lean goateed man flanked by a pair of meta women: an elf and a dwarf, all relaxing with the detente of professional landsharks and the poise of coiled springs. I approached the group tentatively, orbiting their table while making my inquiries. Only the male agreed to talk business with me, though his femme fatales had made no attempts to leave. So I began my interview of Subject Thirty-Nine:

Q: Tell me about yourself, such as where you're from and what you do.
A (Man): Well, I'm a Sprawl native. Grew up in one of the nice neighborhoods with a lot of 'Star and low crime. I was always a bit of a punk, though. Picking fights with guys bigger than me 'cause most everyone interested in fighting is. I once gave the QB of the high school team a concussion with a mop handle; what he deserved for picking on my chums. I eventually got into Urban Brawl as a way to have fun while making a good living. I played Blaster, Shotgun and Staff, since all the legal lower leagues are non-lethal. I was smart with my money and worked drekky side jobs and was able to start getting some 'ware on my own with UB sponsored licenses.
Q: This was with the Seattle Screamers or another team?
A (Man): Well below the Screamers. You've got, like, five layers of minor leagues before you get into the live-fire. Like the way baseball used to be before everyone realized how boring it was.
A (Elf): [snickering] Base-what?
A (Man): Exactly!
Q: And now?
A (Man): When drek went bad with the UB scene I got on as rent-a-cop security, temp drek at corp buildings that don't have their own security or need someone to fill in for training days and vacations.
A (Elf) [nudges man in the ribs again, this time a little harder]: Uhhh back it on up [lets out a string of giggles] You just can't gloss over getting tossed out of the UB scene, eh? Frag, that's the best part, too!
A (Man): It balances out: something really good got geeked by something fraggin' awful. The security job was ruined by doing exactly what I was supposed to. The place I was stationed at went on alert. Protocol said no one in or out, full force permitted if necessary. I'd only been at that site for a week, didn't know if the guy trying to leave was really the big wig he claimed he was, so I gave him a butt to the gut and held him at point for an hour.
A (Dwarf): You shot someone trying to leave or enter?
A (Man): With as much as he bitched? I wish! Fragging CEOs not wearing badges!
A (Dwarf): At least he only had you fired.
A (Elf) [nodding]: With some of the physical masks I've seen mages cast? Better safe than sorry, eh?
A (Man): Fragging put a black mark on my employment history! I can't pull corp security anywhere now. Now I'm an odd-job chromehead. Bodyguard, collections, and so on. I've managed to keep my permits from expiring and my SIN is still citizen.
A (Elf) [facepalms.]

Q: What do your fellow runners say about you?
A (Man): Hmm, well, one thinks of me as a highly amusing storyteller, all of my life's frag ups, but I'm building a reputation as dependable and discrete.
A (Elf): I'd say he is a good chummer. A bit twitchy, but he'll get the job done.
A (Man): Yeah, still need a trigger for the nerves, but got to make the 'yen stretch all the way to the fridge.

Q: Is there anybody else that runs the shadows you really look up to?
A (Man) [chuckling]: One thing Nietzsche had spot-on was "God is dead, kill your idols." If someone is famous in the fragging shadows, they've already lost it.
A (Elf) [begins to snicker]
A (Man):You stop to think, "What would Maria Mercurial do?", you don't have time to solve the problem.

Q: What do you know about the seven megacorps?
A (Man): Oh, this and that, nothing too meaty. Ares has the guns, Yamatetsu has the chrome, Aztech has a whole fragging country, blah blah. Moral issues on who to work for really don't mean a whole lot. Money is money, power is power, and all of it can kill you.
Q: Sorry? Aztech has what country?
A (Man): Aztlan.

Q: Which corporation annoys you the most?
A (Dwarf): I think the corps are all full of crazies myself.
A (Man): Well Biohyde ticks me off with their massive genetic engineering programs. We mundane slitches sell ourselves for chrome to keep up with what the adepts have naturally, and we can't even touch a full mage for recon power unless someone spent big money to have bacterial barriers in their walls. I can't out punch an equally chromed troll, elves got a bit of speed on your normal human, and those silver tongues, so on and so forth. I've got to bring tactics and versatility just to stay viable!

Q: Who, in your opinion, is the worst street gang in the sprawl?
A (Man): Gonna sound weird, but Humanis and the Ancients both annoy the frag out of me. Racism just gets in the way of work efficiency and no one wants to go hungry, especially for something they can't control. The Trogs do the same kind of drek, honestly, but they don't have senators or whatnot in their pocket and keep it in the OU. Really, I'm not a fan of gangs in general. When I'm in a bad mood I put on the wrong colors and go walking through neighborhoods. Fraggers spend so much time fighting over three or four blocks, spending all their 'yen on ammo and drugs to forget what they've done with the ammo they never get anywhere.

Q: And...the Johnsons?
A (Man): What about them? There's not much to say. A meet is a lot like an interview with a chance of getting shot. Better pay grade than the unemployment office, so it factors in as hazard pay.

Q: Any preferences in regards to Johnsons? Any you prefer working for?
A (Man): Anyone who pays fair and doesn't give me the itchy finger is fine. If drek goes bad at the supposedly easy end, professional courtesy is out the window. Same as anywhere else: in the full up corps if your boss screws you over, you get a lawyer. In the shadows, things tend to be handled a lot quicker, or a lot costlier.

Q: You mentioned that you had a SIN?
A (Man): Born UCAS citizen, UB and low grade security permits for gear and chrome.
Q: Is it a legal SIN?
A (Man) [chuckles]: Somewhere in the grand Matrix and UCAS records there's a little file with an image of my little baby foot prints, hand prints, and such with a long hooped number.
Q: So the answer is yes? The documentation isn't forged?
A (Man): My original information is entirely legitimate and attached to a non-criminal SIN. Honestly, I've undergone a vatjob procedure: dermal sheathing, so really the finger prints and such don't mean anything. You need a DNA sample to properly identify me, and a hell of a sharp knife to get it.
Q: Why are you running the shadows if you have a SIN? Financial gain?
A (Man): How much does your legit job net you a month? Decent clothing, not under nourished, I bet your living expenses are between 3k to 5k a month, maybe up to 10 if you just really slum it to talk to people like me. And I seriously doubt the 10k end of things if you're packing a gun that feeds 16 round large calibers into it. Rich folk like fancy holdouts. My dad sure did. So, yes the money is a big factor. Another is I'm an adrenaline junky; anyone who wants to go to live-fire, pay-per-view UB is either that or suicidal and afraid to pull the trigger. But I'm smart with a clean SIN. If I don't step on the wrong toes, in as little as a year I could retire - set for life, half off of selling the metal back out of my body. I stick around five years without the black spear flipping my way and I could buy a small island for me and my favorite chums.

Q: Hypothetical scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their heads and they were on the run from a megacorp, was to come asking you for help. What would you do?
A (Man): There are three things to consider before every major decision involving the business: Gain, Cost, and Loss. What do I have to gain from doing it? What will it cost see it through? And what is there to lose? The price of failure, or success for that matter. I'm not below a charity case, but I'm definitely not above working the friendly angle. But, while I'm not a Bushido Sam, I've got my own code. I don't flip sides in the middle of a job. Bad for your rep and your health!
A (Elf): Chiptruth right there.
A (Man): If I'm going to do something that doesn't have a material value attached to it, it needs to be a fragging serious 'Greater Good' reason like blood magic, or insect shamans and toxic spirits, or an IOU from someone who I know will make good on it at any time. [Pats the elven woman's back] If I need a hand, she's got my back. If she needs another pair of eyes, I'm right fraggin' there. Shakespeare has some glorious writing, but Franklin has words of wisdom: "Three men can keep a secret if only two of them are dead." A bit of an exaggeration, but anything that isn't strictly business and the better half of business, you've got to choose who you trust very carefully and still keep an eye open.

The interview was concluded rather quickly, enough time for me to vacate the bar and cut a path through the ever-thickening crush of bodies on the sidewalk. A quick detour for some mock soyfood at a take-out joint which looked more like kibbles and chews than ginger sashimi and I was back home where I uploaded my datafile.

Another night to venture out of my squat-house. It had been a while since I had taken my research material with me, as I lately had been pricing netrunning gear. Oh, I'm no bitbasher. At least not yet. I would need some professional advice before I risked frying my brains with silicon dreams! No sooner had I vacated my doss that the huff and puff rent-o-cops were nipping on my tail. Turns out Lone Star's DPI was combing the neighbourhood after some anonymous tip was made regarding a pair of zoned out teen shamans in the alley shooting up magical fireworks. Next thing I knew half the department of paranormal investigation is sniffing around the curb, talking about corpselights, salamanders and wyrds.

Rather than risk being mistaken as a par by some magical research staff-sargeant and getting my hoop bagged and tagged, my sneakers carried me to the familiar haunts of the Rockalla. I was instantly lost in the usual omnipresent haze of cigarette smoke, but rather than lose myself in carcinogenic obscurity I was able to focus on my original task: finding a suitable subject to interview.

There is where I met a petite teenager with very long black hair. But what grabbed my attention was not her age, follicle abundance, or her eyes, but rather the thick black book she held in her slender hands and perusing with such intensity. I introduced myself and asked if she had time for a few questions. She agreed and I began my interview of subject forty:

Q: Tell me about yourself, where you're from, what you do.

A: Um... I'm from Toronto, Ontario... I guess. I'm a student... I guess?

Q: Jewel! And you're out here in Seattle...why?

A: I'm here for... well... I guess I'm looking for a mentor.

Q: What experience do you have in your field? I mean have you ever run the shadows before?

A: [appears lost for a moment]...I... uh... I have no idea... I haven't been in Seattle long... and um... I'm not really a runner... so...

Q: Is there anybody that runs the shadows you really look up to? Either out in the plex or on the trid? A Simsense Star??

A: [shakes her head again] ...not really... I mean... I tend to read more books...I guess when I realized I was awakened there were heroes, but once I realized how sensationalized the books were I kind of let it go.

Q: What do you know about the seven megacorps?

A: [shrugs slowly] Not much... aside from their names and some of the stuff they do.

Q: Which corporation annoys you the most?

A: Uh... none... really... I guess Aztechnology kicked me out of sneaking into their classrooms a few times...

Q: Aztechnology? Classroom? You can use magic?

A: A little bit... yeah... that's why I'm looking for a mentor.

Q: Mage? Shaman??

A: I'm a mage... I guess...[taps the book she was reading, attempting it indicate it as the subject of some research].

Q: Who, in your opinion, is the worst street gang in this sprawl?...or any sprawl!

A: I haven't really interacted with any of the gangs... I mean... I've seen them... the Halloweeners kind of spook me...But they tend to not bother you when they can't see you.

Q: Just a few more questions.

A: I don't mind... I'm just sorry I'm not very interesting for this sort of thing.

Q: Do you have a SIN?

A: [bites her lip as she thinks for a moment] I... did? I mean, don't know... I guess I don't anymore. technically... being a uh... [softly] runaway.

Q: Runaway? Anything you can share? What happened?

A: Um... I guess... well, my mom had died... and my sister left home... and the person who was teaching me left...And my dad wasn't too chilled about the magic thing... home just got unbearable and I needed to be where I could learn.

Q: Last question. Hypothetic scenario: if somebody who, say, had a bounty on their heads and they were on the run from a megacorp, was to come asking you for help. What would you do?

A: [blinks for a few moments. She opens her mouth to speak but stops agape. She mulls for a second, processing the question in her head.] I guess uh... I'd probably try putting them in touch with someone who knew about that kind of stuff?

My interview concluded I thanked Subject forty and left the bar. By this time the shadow wannabes and posers were either dead or dieing, while the smartest ones were back in their parents' basements, having lived to parade themselves cheaply for another day. I scoped a few more haunts before I headed back home. A police barricade three houses down from my bolthole revealed that the TacDiv boys in blue had finally found those two kids chucking magic lights in an alley...both young shamans had been ripped to pieces, their hands and feet gnawed off.

I guess there really was something slinking in the shadows. Go figure.

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